


The Black Rabbit of Inlé

by leonidaslion



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-16
Updated: 2011-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-14 19:51:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonidaslion/pseuds/leonidaslion





	The Black Rabbit of Inlé

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dgtall](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dgtall).



Sam finds the dog-eared book when he’s looking for some extra bandages in Dean’s duffle. He doesn’t take much notice of it at first, mainly because Dean is bleeding all over the bathroom floor, but he probably wouldn’t have paid much attention to it anyway. Dean’s never been one for reading, but this book has always been different: has been ever since that one time in Alabama when it rained for over a week straight.

Dean was bouncing all over the place because the TV in the motel was out and Dad finally lost his patience and shoved the book into Dean’s hands and forced him down into a chair. Sam looked up from his Latin primer to see Dean scowling down at the paperback dubiously.

“What the hell do I want to read about rabbits for?” he asked. And then, hopefully, “Are they possessed?”

Dad snorted in exasperation and then answered, shortly, “It was your mother’s favorite book,” and Dean shut up.

He didn’t move for the next three days, slowly picking his way through the book and shoving Sam away whenever he tried to distract him: “‘M busy, Sammy: go bug Dad.” Only put the book down to use the bathroom and to eat and to sleep.

Since then, and if Sam had to guess he’d say that Dean had been about twelve at the time, Dean had worn through at least five copies of that book. Sam read it himself once, and didn’t really get the attraction. It was interesting enough, he supposed, but seriously: _rabbits_?

So he doesn’t think too much of finding the book in his brother’s duffle, and it isn’t until a few weeks later, when he realizes that Dean’s been reading a little of it every night instead of going out like his usual horn dog self, when he begins to wonder about it.

He doesn’t really remember much of the story, and if he asks Dean what’s so fascinating he knows that his brother will clam up like nobody’s business, so he buys himself a used copy at a bookstore and starts reading it himself in the bathroom when Dean’s asleep. As he reads, he remembers that the rabbit trickster, El-ahrairah, had reminded him of Dean: all flash and misdirection, getting into scrape after scrape and always managing to come out on top. But El-ahrairah isn’t the one that makes him think of his brother anymore, and when he finishes it, Sam has a bitter taste in his mouth.

All of a sudden, Dean’s obsession makes sense, and Sam wishes that it didn’t.

It all comes to a head two days later, when they get back to the motel after a hearty dinner of McDonalds’ and Dean sprawls out on his bed and pulls out the book to start reading. Sam can’t take it—can’t just stand there and let Dean twist things around in his mind like this anymore—and he’s across the room before he knows what he’s doing, yanking the book out of his brother’s hands and ripping it in two pieces and then flinging them across the room.

Dean’s on his feet, mouth gaping and brow already furrowing down in anger. “What the fuck, Sam?” he demands.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” Sam shouts back.

Dean gives him a look like he thinks Sam’s officially lost it, but Sam isn’t fooled. He caught the flinch in his brother’s eyes. “It’s a _book_ , Sam. And you owe me a new one.”

“Yeah, a book about a rabbit and his psychic kid brother.”

Dean’s cheek twitches and then he shrugs. “So what?”

“I’m not stupid, Dean.”

Dean shoves him back and Sam realizes that he’s gotten right up in Dean’s face: gotten way too close unless he was going for a fight here. He lets Dean push past him as his brother growls, “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve read that thing like a million times.” Leaning down to pick up one half of the book, he adds, “Sometimes a banana is just a banana.”

“Don’t do this, man,” Sam begs.

The tone in his voice catches something in Dean and makes him look back. “Do what?” he asks, voice flat.

“Don’t—don’t convince yourself that this is the way it has to be. Don’t _accept_ this.”

Dean doesn’t say anything to that. Just turns around again to get the other half of the book.

“I’m going to save you,” Sam says softy.

“Sure you are,” Dean murmurs, but he’s just trying to placate Sam. His attention is on the book, flipping through the pages like he’s trying to decide whether he can still read it like this or not.

Sam loses the tenuous grip he has on his emotions and the fear and the anger and the desperation come bubbling up in a shout: “You’re not a fucking bunny, and that crossroads demon isn’t the Black Rabbit of Inlé!”

Dean starts at that, and drops the book. A handful of pages come loose and fall more slowly in a paper rain, and it’s like the rain on that first day: that day on the other side of forever when Dad shoved the damned thing into Dean’s hands to keep his energetic son from driving him crazy. The eyes Dean raises to Sam are shuttered, and it’s like looking at a corpse.

“Everyone has to die sometime.”

 _No,_ Sam wants to scream. _No, they don’t—_ you _don’t—not yet._ He wants to shake Dean’s shoulders and yell that there’s no _owsla_ to join: that when the demon comes to take him there’s going to be nothing but pain and torment. Hazel was old when he died: Dean hasn’t even made it to thirty yet, and if he’d just _fight_ for himself for once in his goddamned life …

“Hey. Hey, Sammy; it’s okay.” Dean sounds alarmed, and then Sam feels his brother’s hand on his arm and realizes that he’s crying. His tears are spilling down onto the rug like rain, like the pages in a storybook, and they aren’t rabbits. Dean’s not Hazel-rah and Sam’s not Fiver because if he was, he’d find some way to save his brave, stupid brother like Fiver does in the book when Hazel’s been shot by farmers.

But Sam’s looked everywhere, and there’s nothing, and the days are slipping through his fingers. A year isn’t enough time— _ten_ years wouldn’t have been enough—and maybe that crossroads bitch, as Dean refers to her, really is the Black Rabbit of Inlé after all. _Death is death,_ Sam thinks, and Dean’s trying to calm him down, murmuring, “Shhh, Sammy. It’s just a stupid book; it doesn’t mean anything.”

Sam clutches Dean close, and breathes in his brother’s scent, and there’s a smell there: like a mildewed paperback. Like decay.

“Don’t leave me, Dean. You have to promise.”

But it’s a promise Dean can’t make, and his fingers only tighten on Sam’s arm as he walks him over and sits him down on the bed. “I’m right here, Sammy. I’m right here.”


End file.
